A fairy tale has three common parts. A promising beginning, a troubled middle and a rosy future. It is marked all through with promise and hope. An unequivocal knowledge that whatever happens, the ending will be happy and everyone shall be satisfied.
This is not a fairy-tale. The beginning isn’t clear and is far from promising. The beginning is staring over your books at girls who don’t stare back. The beginning is being taunted for not having a boyfriend when everyone has one. The beginning is falling in love with a girl who is fooling around. A girl who looks at you strangely when you declare your love. A girl who rans away and threatens to tell everyone. The beginning is swearing off girls. Retreating to your shell and trying to work on getting a boyfriend. I mean, it can’t be that hard.
There is no gallant prince swooping in the middle. To rescue you from all your troubles. Instead, there is waking up in a puddle of sweat, from a dream that seemed too real, about a girl you have no right to be dreaming about. The middle is trying to pray away the gay. Sitting in that pew, convinced that the devil has marked you. Certain of the place that awaits you in hell. The middle is full of girls you are not allowed to love. Except in your dreams. But even those are marked with guilt.
The end looks far from rosy. Uncertain and a long way from happy. The end possibly has acceptance. But that comes at a price. The loss of friends. The loss of family. Who knew some human beings can exist and others have to fight to live. Who knew rights were universal as long as you are ‘normal’. The end looks uncertain and hazy. There are girls to love, away from the confines of your dreams. But reality comes with whispers, threats and accusations. Your life is a movie that everyone seems to have a ticket to. They want to sit in the funny theatre chairs, popcorn in hand and hurl their opinions at you. You are supposed to take them and live them. No one cares that you are keeping your opinion to yourself. You are discouraged from having an opinion.
It’s not a fairy tale. It’s not even a tale. If it was, we would write in the happy ending in big, bold, unapologetic letters. But here we are, and there they are. They have their opinions, we have ours. You are both the prince swooping in and the girl in desperate need of saving. The roles are not clear cut. You are not sure you have the answers. But you live anyway. Because its your truth. In spite of their opinions and their rules. You are happy, even though they try very hard to make sure you are not. You are strong. It is wonderful, it is remarkable.
It is the farthest thing from a fairy tale. But who even likes those, anyway.